The weekends in a small town generally can only take you so far. Yes, I can usually make it lead to a good time, but I’ve also learned you have to make peace with the fact that sometimes the weekends just run into this long rut of monotony. Since traveling to a larger city can not only be a hassle, but also can get pricey, I find myself running around some of the local establishments. This past Saturday, was one of those nights.
Usually heading to one of the regular places is good for a few rounds of drinks, watching the locals talk about the glory days, the douchebags be douchy, and the local talent thinking they’re hotter than they really are. (Not saying my hometown is crawling with fattys and uggos, and there are some hotties, but I am saying most of these poor girls wouldn’t stand a chance in Madison, Chicago, MKE, etc, I’ll be nice and just give them all 6’s). Getting back to the point at hand though.
This wasn’t a normal night in my town, and the bars were more crowded than usual, and this is why. Every year my old high school puts on an “alumni basketball tournament” nothing too crazy and since it is a small town you normally see about an average of 6-10 teams. What it really means though is that it gives everyone an excuse to come back into their old stomping grounds and tie one off. Picture the night before Thanksgiving at your favorite bar only in the spring. An unofficial H.S. reunion. Sidebar… my class got killed 51-22 in the tourney, but that’s not relevant.
Unlike many people I know, I am still very close to many of my high school friends. Even through college, and living in different cities, and people getting into more serious relationships, we’ve always been really close. That night while grabbing a bite to eat we decided we’d hit up one of the normal local bars that we always go to when people are in town, the River Rail. We had heard that some guy won the local sign in at the bar and pulled in $13,000. Thanks to that he decided to let the bar drink on him for $1000 worth. $1000 worth of free drinks meant that the Rail would be awesometown and we had to go. Combine that with a 21st birthday party being celebrated down there by the bosses daughter = more girls, and more free beer. We headed over a little after 8:30.
Now, the way I have been describing my hometown makes me sound like I hate it here… that couldn’t be farther from the truth. I love it; I just never really expected to be back as a permanent resident after getting a college degree. Here’s one of the reason I love this town. We got to the Rail at roughly 8:45 expecting to hit up the $1000 bar tab which started opened at 8pm. Never underestimate free loading drinkers… we missed the tab… by a solid 20 minutes. They opened it at 8 and it was closed out at 8:27. As much as I was in shock and awe, at the same time I was not surprised and knew I just made a rookie mistake by not heading over right when it opened. Come on rook, you know better.
I managed to find the 21st birthday party section, and knowing the boss and his wife = an automatic in no matter what your situation is. Free beverages and food was back on track. After a few hours of this, you could tell that things were starting to fall into that dull déjà vu type of scene, and that’s when it all started. Me and one of my friends Jess, from that strong core I mentioned about earlier, were chatting it up over to the side by ourselves, when we noticed another one of the guys talking to this older girl. Not too much older, nothing obscene, but it was enough to grab our attention.
We immediately debated the chances of if she was going to go home with our other friend or not, whether she’s a slut or just randomly talking, and of course, how old she was. I immediately said 28 to Jess and got the “how drunk are you” look right back at me. Jess says, “over 30”. Of course I shake that notion off as insanity and blame her vision on all the free beer. After arguing about this amongst ourselves we finally come to this conclusion. Overunder is 30, loser buys the shots, and go. I pick under, Jess picks over. Now comes the hard part of how to find out how old she actually is… or is it really that hard? (that’s what she said!)
This is why overunder age is the best game ever invented. Not only do you get to place in your bets, but guys, asking a girl’s age may seem intrusive and like a horrible way to start a conversation… but it isn’t. Yeah it’s not the newest trick in the book but it’s got three constants every guy loves… gambling, drinking, and hit on girls. I eventually went over to ask her age. She was 35, I lost. … or did I? 1) Gambled? Check, lost the over under but I got my bet in to the best my effort 2) Drinking? Check, lost the bet, buy the shots, but also take the shots. 3) Hit on girls? Check. Not only did we chat it up, but I won the flattery card by telling her I guessed the under.
More and more of our friends saw Jess and I doing this and before you knew it we had a full on gambling ring going on by our table. You would place you bets, pick your poison and then, go find out their age. We even did it with a few guys, to keep the girls of the game intrigued. In fact, I deem this a rule when playing Overunder age. If you are with a group of only males, and you start approaching girls and ask for their age, it may be cute at first, but 2 or 3 times in, you’re just that creepy group of dudes that sits at the end of the bar.
It was probably the most fun I’ve had in a while when just staying in the small town for the night. I loved the game so much I ended up going to a second bar after all my friends went home and taught the game with a group of people I met there. The night was a huge success and it will be played again. Right after I finish out creating the great drunken scavenger hunt…